Saving Pietro
by Annabeth Black
Summary: If Hydra created Pietro, why couldn't they save him? They have the science, it could be possible. Wanda believes it. She believes in you. But should you bring him back? Probably not. Will you bring him back? You're going to goddamn try.


You know, S.H.I.E.L.D. always had a problem when it came to meddling in matters of life and death. To a certain extent it made sense: save the lives of the innocent, end the lives of the evil, because really, what else will truly stop them from doing it again? Except they rarely killed. Imprisonment was more humane and it kept them all with jobs when the true masterminds broke out. The more threats, the more of them were needed to keep the ignorant safe. For a while that was fine. But then they took it too far. They began to renew life instead of preserve it. Perhaps thawing out the Captain was forgivable; a mistake even. After all, who could have known that the serum kept him alive in the ice? By all intents and purposes he ought to have been dead.

Their next step was an entirely different story. It was an abomination. Project T.A.H.I.T.I. was beautiful though. Goddamn, it was awe-inspiring. A giant leap forward was taken in genetics but the cost was too high. The very thought was sickening, experimenting on people like that without their permission. Making their lives worse and killing them anyway in the most agonising ways. Not to mention how it was only a process reserved for the "best" people. That is to say those with the highest level access of course. No one wants to revive an unlucky rookie caught in the crossfire at all. No one would rather save a young adult who still has a family over an aging man who chose to be alone in this world. Someone so young and loved cannot save the world they hardly know. The older man could. Or so they say.

But S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone. Supposedly. We destroyed them. Corrupted their soldiers from the inside out. The perfect plan for revenge. They're trying to rebuild but who can you really trust in this new world? No one. Which is why fifteen guns and a bow are pointed are you right now. A sudden movement and it's game over.

"Can you do it?"

It's not the first time she's asked you. Pity wells up inside of your chest. It coils around your heart and squeezing tight around that pounding chunk of meat. All you can offer her is that emotion. Nothing more. His brain has been dead for too long. No matter how intact his heart may be, it isn't beating anymore. The truth behind these objections are falling upon deaf ears though.

"I told you already-"

"She didn't ask for excuses. She asked if you could do it." The harsh American tone of the one holding the bow sends a chill racing down your spine. Clint Barton is frightening in his own right but his powerful friends and allies are even scarier. They might be too moral to kill outright but life would be more unbearable than it already is.

"She's asking for a miracle."

Being bitter won't help but it's comforting. It's familiar, just like the man on the table. You knew him once, just as you knew the woman clinging to his lifeless form before you. It had been the opportunity of the lifetime after all and Hydra realistically only ever gave you one shot. The biological make-up of the twins had become all that more fascinating with the effect of the sceptre. Had it reverted back to its original structure in death? It's entirely possible that it could have. There was only one way to be sure but an autopsy was the exact opposite of what these people want.

"You helped make my brother and I. Was that not a miracle?" Wanda's desperation is almost too much to bear. Her brother was all she had and you know that. You also know that meddling with death is wrong. You can't. You won't. Not again.

"I only helped. I could never have done it alone just as I cannot do this by myself."

Way to dodge the question. Lies about the reason you can't do it always work out, right? Well, maybe it wasn't a complete lie but the point still stands.

"You won't be alone. We brought you a present."

The fear of the unknown is a very logical thing. It's a survival instinct, part of evolution. Only, you know what this is. Any amateur biologists could ramble on length about the works of Doctor Helen Cho and her amazing progression in the genetic field. Following in her footsteps was by no means an easy task but that's what Hydra now drafted you to do. Thank goodness it's always been your passion.

It clearly isn't a complete recreation of the cradle. It's smaller, nothing like the coffin-like machine you expected. At least it was easily portable. Shining, stainless steel, this machine is nothing less than beautiful and too good for a traitor like you.

"Why didn't you ask Doctor Cho to do this?"

"She doesn't know our bodies like you do. Our genes are not the same. The machine needs to be fixed." Wanda is close to sobbing again. If only she wouldn't.

"Also, Doctor Cho doesn't have your… experience." Barton adds slyly.

He shouldn't know about that. How the hell does he know?

"It might not work-"

"But it might." Wanda's interruption isn't wrong. Imagine it, the ability to mend what is broken. To fix your experiment and play with the machine you've been dreaming of for the last few months. But you aren't as good with machines as people. They may be more or less the same but machines are so much harder.

No. Could you imagine fixing the shell but not his core? Imagine failing. Or worse, imagine his trauma upon reawakening. Think about his pain and suffering and the scarring he could have for the rest of his life. Will he even wake up with his memories? Is it possible for him to be the same as before? Could you even fix the machine, let alone restart his mind?

Is it worth the risk?

The look in Wanda's eyes say yes but the voice in the back of your head shrieks no.

Neither of those things matter though because the feeling in your gut and the pang in your heart whenever you catch a glimpse of Pietro's slightly open mouth say yes. Hopefully the machine comes with instructions.

"Gods help me, I just might."

The simple act of rolling up your sleeves is not only hygienic in the sense that it reduces the chances of staining your shirt but it also improves your self-esteem in two ways: The first is that you feel sexy which is an important ego booster. Everyone looks sexy with their sleeves rolled up. That is a fact of life and you are no exceptions. That sexy feeling plays a key role in the second and more important improvement to your self-esteem. Confidence is a major part to success. Uncertainty leads to doubt which then causes mistakes that end in failure. You can't afford to be uncertain now, even if you know nothing. One mistake and it's all over.

As predicted, fixing the body was an easy task albeit a long one. His cells were mostly dead, finding a still living sample to recalibrate the machine to took too long. That didn't matter though. A bioelectric pulse of technology you didn't quite understand re-liquefied his blood. Rigging up wires and drips to a machine that pumped his heart and lungs manually would help inspire the remaining cells to revive the others. You'd tried this out before on animals, nothing bigger than a dog though. Hydra was under attack long before you could move on to the human trials.

While this process worked, you tinker with the machine under the watchful eyes of S.H.I.E.L.D. They didn't need to guard all the exits. You know you wouldn't leave and Wanda knows it. All these observers are unnecessary. They cause stress and distraction, the opposite of what you need. So much is on the line.

It took some trial and error but after a handful of tries the machine began to start repairing the bullet holes. Watching his flesh knit back together might have been fascinating but all you feel is queasy even thinking about it. He was someone special to you, someone important. Maybe you fixed his body, his shell. That means nothing. Bringing him back to consciousness, getting his mind online so he could live on his own, that was the real challenge. No miracle alien drugs this time. No sceptre. Just you and your mortal equipment.

Agent Barton and Wanda could sense your hesitation. It was painstakingly obvious, just staring at the body with trembling hands. Where do you even begin on such a task? It was taking too long. Far too long and you just didn't know enough on your own.

"You've done enough."

The voice was unknown to you. It sent chills down your spine despite how warm it sounded. Many of the others in the room seemed taken by surprised also, but not Wanda. Her eyes lit up with hope as they followed whoever had entered the room behind your back.

It was dark in the lab, just a lamp at your desk where you worked and a spotlight on your patient. The newcomer avoided these lights as best he could but that didn't stop the glimpses of skin that was a brighter red than the lipstick on your dresser at home. You could also see a gold cape, fluttering about even though there was no breeze in the room to stir it.

That was all you got. Your job was done. Henchmen hands pulled you out of the room. You're nearly at the door when a blinding light, gold as the cape the stranger wore, exploded into existence from a source you couldn't locate. You were dropped to the floor and hit your head as the guards shielded their eyes. It was so warm and reassuring, that light. It felt like all the stress melted off your bones. It felt like being hugged by the one you truly loved after a bad day. It was love and comfort and most definitely alien.

And then it was gone. You were being dragged out once again. Too curious not to, you drag your heels. Start to resist. There was a red hand on Wanda's arm. You could see wisps of her power snaking from her eyes to caress her brother's cheek. There was a ringing in your ears which muffled the sounds of the machines going haywire. The light must have fried them, not that you cared. You'd never use them again anyway. Now you were being sent to jail.

That realisation, that you would end up right here, in this cell. That's when you stopped fighting. Not the athletic type, you were never going to get away. So you gave in, let them haul you off. Still, before you had even rounded the corner you heard Wanda's shocked cry. It had been what you were secretly hoping for and it happened.

He must have woken up.

Ten days, fourteen hours, fifty-seven minutes.

That was how long it's been since the alien miracle had happened. That miracle you had a hand in. You did the groundwork that made reanimation possible. This entitles you to nothing though. No news, no progress reports. You are a villain, on the side of Hydra because you chose your interests over what was apparently an obvious moral choice.

Ten days, fourteen hours, fifty-seven minutes locked in a cell.

No torture, no interrogation, no contact with any other human at all. No blood or smells of bodily excretion either. The clinical white cells of S.H.I.E.L.D. with their glass fronts, food delivery systems, and invisible janitors were much nicer than you could have ever hoped for. That's nice at least. The painful silence, while preferred to screaming inmates, is still horrifying in its own way. Would it kill them to install a PA system? Even a little light jazz would be preferable to nothing at all.

"Thank you."

The voice was so sudden, so out of the blue. Sitting bolt upright, all the blood rushes from your head, making it woozy. Bright spots blur your vision but when they are gone you can see him through the glass.

He sounded weak and one look shows that he should most definitely not be here. Sat back in a wooden chair, his face is so pale that it is possible he is a ghost. He should be a ghost. He had died after all. But no, there he was in a dark tracksuit because clearly the man loved advertising that he was a runner. The grin on his face is sloppy like always. You can see the relief in his eyes. This is a good sign. Reviving him should have destroyed his mind but he seems good. He seems relieved. He seems himself.

"I didn't do anything. They must have told you that."

Bitterness, shame, and a voice lost without use are not a good combination. Still, at least it's not anger. Anger gets you in trouble. It can be quite a useless emotion really.

"Vision could not have brought me back without a working body. You fixed the machine, you fixed me. No one else could have. No one knows us like you do."

"Wrong. The others on the team-"

"Are all dead or would not cooperate. Hydra abandoned us. You didn't. Wanda told me you abandoned your principles to save me."

Ah yes. The witch could read minds. Or maybe she had actually listened to your protests in the beginning. Whatever reason, she had snitched on you. Told him the truth to your thoughts. Hopefully it wouldn't give him ideas.

"Well Hydra is… It doesn't matter. I didn't exactly have a choice. In the end I cooperated because I wanted to see how well I would do. For science. For myself."

Why so defensive? You shouldn't care what he thinks. Your experiment or not, history irrelevant, he's on the side of the do-gooders now. He's on the side that limits creativity and progression unless it directly benefits them and their cause. He's on the side of the people who will keep you locked up in this solitary hell until you die. Any pursuit of personal passion is forbidden now. You are condemned to a life of nothing.

You are not angry. That emotion is useless. You are upset. Isolated. Lonely. Frustrated. They are probably watching your every move. You cannot show them how their cage affects you. You cannot show how the man you saved stirs you.

"I know you, doctor. You… you like to hide the truth," Pietro stands and slowly walks to the glass. It's impressive but unwise. Still, he gets as close as possible and places a hand on the glass. "Either way it does not matter. You saved my life and I will thank you. Somehow, I will thank you."

Your body feels drawn towards him despite every voice inside you screaming no. Your hand lines up with his on the other side of the cool surface. Meeting his eyes causes your heart to swell and ache. Instead you lean your forehead against the glass and close your eyes. When you open them again, Pietro and his chair are gone.

Maybe they had never been there to begin with. Maybe he had never come back to life. How would you know?

You wouldn't.

Hawkeye was sitting in the chair next to Pietro's bed. As his eyes swept the room they rested briefly on Wanda. She slept, curled up on a cot in the corner. The poor child had hardly slept since the battle. At least now she had found some peace.

"You know, you don't need to be here." Pietro groaned as he pushed himself up the mini mountain of pillows he had been rested against.

"You know, all this could've been avoided if you'd just pushed the car in front of me, or better yet, dragged it form the protected side so you couldn't get shot."

Pietro stopped and looked at Clint wide-eyed for a second as the words slapped him in the face. Then his features relaxed into a natural smirk.

"You're probably right. I still saved your life though."


End file.
